Heiress
by ex machinas
Summary: Someone breaks into Illya's safe house in Russia and, to their surprise, UNCLE has taken over the case. The safety of a family member has been threatened and Illya has a secret he needs to protect. The team needs to get to the bottom of it, uncovering more mystery, revelation, and romance. (Napoleon/OC) Rated T for Language. (HIATUS)
1. Chapter 1

**Friboug, Switzerland 20:10**

Napoleon held a cup of coffee in his hand, another holding a newspaper open as he reads through the articles. Illya sat across him, playing chess with himself. Gaby has retired for bed. They have just arrived for another mission in Switzerland, and they were waiting for a call from Waverly for orientation.

"Have you ever been to Switzerland, Peril?" Napoleon asked, not looking up from his paper.

"No." Illya answered, also not looking up. "I grow impatient, he promised to call by 10."

Napoleon shrugged, "We're one hour ahead of London, he could be talking about _his_ 10 in the evening."

Illya huffed, and said nothing.

A shrill ringing of the phone sent him and Napoleon up, as the latter grabbed the phone and pressed in against his ear. "Waverly?"

"Napoleon, hello. Good evening," Waverly greeted.

"Your call is late," Illya chimed in, Napoleon sent him a look and went back to talking with his commanding officer, "Is something wrong, Waverly?"

The man on the other line sighed, "Yes, I'm afraid there is. Please hand the phone over to Mr. Kuryakin."

"What?"

"Give the phone to Kuryakin."

Confused, Napoleon sighed and gave the phone to Illya. "What is the matter, Waverly?"

"Mr. Kuryakin, I'm afraid I'm going to have to pull you out of this mission. Your superior has left a very alarming message that says you need to return to Russia immediately."

Illya stiffened, "Something happened to my superior?"

"Uh, no. Something happened to your home. Someone broke in."

Illya's heart nearly busted. His home was never the same place twice, but if Waverly was talking about his _safe house_ …

"No one knows where that is," Illya told him.

"Yes, but still somehow someone broke in. Your superior requested you to travel back to Russia as soon as you can to brief you about the incident."

"And the current mission?"

"Will be postponed," Waverly sighed, "I'm afraid the Swiss mission requires a three-man group at the very least. I suggest you bring the two of them to Russia, because I believe the KGB is going to forward the case to UNCLE. I will be personally joining you in Russia."

Illya's mind is running overtime, "A plane?"

"En route, ETA 30 minutes. See you in Russia, Mr. Kuryakin."

Illya listened to the dial tone for 10 seconds.

"Peril?" Napoleon snapped him out of his daze. He placed the phone down and went to his room, packing everything up.

"Wake Gaby. We need to leave. You have to pack."

"Something wrong?"

"Yes." He didn't want to delve further into the conversation until he was given all the information regarding the attack.

Napoleon went to wake Gaby up, and rushed back to Illya's room, Gaby following him, squinting, "What is going on?"

"Plane arrives in 30 minutes, we are going to Russia."

Gaby stared, "Why?"

Illya gritted his teeth, "Someone broke into my safe house last night. It is urgent that we report to Russia. Waverly is taking on the case."

"What—what do you mean 'case'? Someone broke into your house, that's not a bit of a problem. Every country has burglars," Napoleon answered him.

Illya stuffed the remaining pieces of clothing he removed earlier on back to his luggage, "Yes, but it is not just burglars, not simple robbery. It is my safe house, I am KGB agent."

Napoleon nodded, trying to piece things together, while Gaby expressed loudly that she doesn't understand anything from the other room as she hurriedly fixed her things as well.

Illya glanced at the American, "You are finished packing?"

"I haven't unpacked yet—so, you have an informant in your house? That's why UNCLE wants this case? That's why KGB wants you to go back?"

"No," the Russian shook his head, "No informant."

"Then who?" Napoleon asked, exasperated, arms stretched out.

Illya's jaw clenched. "My sister. She is in safe house."

* * *

 _This is my first fanfic after about three years of writing hiatus. Hit me up if there are corrections. Hope I can update very soon._


	2. Chapter 2

_i truthfully didn't think anyone would see this but thank you to all those followed and favorited the story, it inspires me. shoutout to **meowma1** i love your stories and i'm honored that you're reading my work. hit me up if there's any corrections._

* * *

Illya didn't think it would come to this. He hasn't said a word to his teammates, only to his superior, of the existence of a sibling. He wanted her out of harm, transferred her to a safe house, and yet, with what happened last night, he has failed. He failed to keep her away from danger.

Napoleon and Gaby were thankfully, silent during their three-travel travel to Moscow. Both were tired, of course, but considerate enough not to probe him with questions. His mind was already racing now as it is. Seated in a cold, dark room with his associates, his superior, and Waverly, Illya wanted nothing more than to get this over with so that he can come home as soon as possible.

Waverly tossed a folder to each of them. "Last night at about 11:30 in the evening, a signal came from the east wing of Kuryakin's safe house in Volgograd. The alarms were expertly disabled, but the burglars did not account the motion detectors in each room. They left as soon as the alarms went off. There were three of them, wearing masks, carrying weapons."

"And how is she?" Illya asked.

"She's fine. They hadn't reached her room when the alarm sounded. She called us immediately, but she seemed distressed."

"Of course she's distressed," Gaby answered, "She lives all alone in a house she think is safe."

"Where is she now?" Napoleon asked. Waverly sighed, "She's still there."

Illya stood from his seat. "You were supposed to keep her safe!"

" _We are_ ," his superior answered in Russian. "But she… insisted to stay in safe house."

"What do we do now?" Napoleon asked.

"Now," Waverly began, "Your job is to keep her safe. She didn't want to leave the house and I doubt that you can convince her to. So you have to stay there with her. Find out who the burglars are and bring them for questioning."

Gaby raised her hand, "If this is just burglary, why is this job being given to secret agents?"

"I'm afraid that's classified." Waverly answered, his lips a thin line.

"Classified? My sister is in danger!"

"Yes and if you want her out of danger, you go find out who broke into your home and bring them in for interrogation. I'll release more information if necessary."

* * *

"This is a Villa, not a house."

"It is safe."

Napoleon shook his head, "It was. Until last night when robbers found a way inside."

Illya grumbled, but instead just found his way outside the car and was pacing towards the entrance. Well, maybe it was a _bit_ spacey. But it was safe and comfortable and his sister loved it.

The last time he had seen his sister, she was only eighteen. She was beautiful and rebellious and it broke her heart that her brother needed to leave. He did everything for her, and she knew that. He kept her safe.

Illya stood in front of the tinted door, thinking whether he should knock or just use the code to open the door. He chose the previous; he did not want to scare his sister. So he knocked. He noticed Napoleon and Gaby behind him, looking exhausted. "Don't worry," he told them, "Many rooms inside safe house."

"Safe _villa_ , you mean," quipped Napoleon.

A silhouette found its way towards the foyer, walking very cautiously and Ilya recognized a small gun on her right hand. She walked slower, trying to figure out who the person behind the door and when she appeared to have realized it was her brother, she lowered the gun and paced towards the door.

"Mой брат?" she called. _(My brother?)_

"это я." _(It's me)_ Ilya called behind the door, and it flew open, his sister flinging her arms around his neck in a tight hug. Napoleon and Gaby glanced at each other.

"Прошло уже так долго, я скучаю по тебе мой брат," she whispered to him and he nodded, saying he had missed her as well. _(It's been so long, I have missed you my brother)_

They broke apart and Ilya reluctantly turned to his teammates. "These are friends, Napoleon Solo, and Gaby Teller."

Gaby sent her a smile, in which she returned, and Napoleon moved forward to kiss her hand. Illya's left eye twitched.

In all honesty, he never wanted _anyone_ to know about his sister. He wasn't ashamed of her—he could never be ashamed of her, but the world is full of people who will try to hurt her just because they can. And he doesn't want that to happen. Not to her.

"Hello," his sister greeted her visitors with a thick Russian accent. She was familiar with English but hasn't been able to practice conversing in the said language due to her isolation.

"Gaby, Cowboy," he wrapped his arm around his sister's shoulders, "This is my sister. Elizaveta Kuryakin."

"But please," the girl added, "just Liz. Or Lizzie. Nobody calls me by real name. It is very long."

"Understood, ma'am," Napoleon replied.

"Please, come inside," she opened the door wider to accommodate her guests.

* * *

Lizzie cannot believe she forgot how tall her brother is. He had grown taller than she had imagined in all the years they've separated. He pointed out how her light chestnut hair has grown longer over the years and how her eyes seemed more intense. She had missed him.

"Are you hungry? You must be," Lizzie said, "Would you like to eat something first?"

"No, dear sister we have eaten in Moscow," Illya informed her, "I think it's best if we just sleep." His sister nodded.

"Then I will proceed in showing you rooms."

The rooms were big and cozy, with thick drapes and marble floor. Huge four-poster beds were in each of the six bedrooms with an adjoining bathroom.

After they have all settled and said their goodnights, Lizzie stopped by her brother's room next to her's. "Was my English good?"

Her brother looked at her, amused, "It is terrible."

"At least I can practice, with you here, and a woman that I can finally talk to," she smiled, "And that American who seems very nice… for an American."

"Oh, Liz, believe me that American is not nice," he shook his head, "Just ignore him."

Lizzie laughed at her brother. "You look tired Ilya, let us discuss it in morning, understood?"

Illya nodded, and she smiled, closing the door behind her.

Lizzie proceeded to her room to finally rest, and the safe villa was once again safe.


	3. Chapter 3

_thank you for all the support i'm getting, to everyone who took their time to read this and comment on this. also i noticed that i spelled illya with a single L but i changed it now to make it correct. this chapter is a short one because i didn't know how to make a transition im sorry. i'll update asap._

* * *

Napoleon woke up early the following day. Being an agent meant that your life will always be in danger, brought by the present missions or the past. Even out of danger, it seemed like it's already a part of him to remain vigilant. The sun hasn't risen yet, but he could hear a soft, slow song being played in the foyer. Beautiful jazz music on a Russian morning.

The lawn has been mowed, he noticed. The snow started to settle in again, and he wondered how anyone could want to wake up to a gloomy day, with no sun and no heat.

Lizzie had woken up and started her morning routine. She had fixed her bed, opened the drapes and turned on the music player. She hadn't even remembered her house guests until she was making coffee for herself. She was taking out coffee mugs out of the cupboards when she heard the front door open. She stiffened and made her way into the foyer, just to see the American, Napoleon Solo, outside, gazing.

"Come inside, Mr. Solo," she called, "I've made you coffee."

* * *

The four of them were silently sipping on their coffees, watching as snow fell through the ceiling to floor window of the living room. The music was soothing. Napoleon placed his cup and saucer on the table and eyed the Kuryakin girl, "Do you have any friends here, Miss Kuryakin? Receive any mails or?"

Lizzie scrunched her nose in distaste, "Liz, please," she corrected him, "And no. I do not make contact with people here."

"Ah," Napoleon nodded, "then the person I saw walking up to your mailbox _might_ not be a mailman after all.

I would say that they've been alerted of our presence here, and even if they hadn't, they were looking around for other possible entrances without turning on the alarms again."

"I say we transfer Liz to the KGB, or to UNCLE headquarters," Gaby said. Lizzie opened her mouth to protest, but Illya beat her to it.

"If he said," motioning to Napoleon, "that they were around here, so moving to other country is not safe."

"I want to know why they want to break in here in the first place," Lizzie answered.

"Must be looking for some sort of… information," the german girl shrugged.

"Or _maybe_ , they found some information to exploit," he eyed Lizzie.

"The KGB would never," Illya spat.

"Enough of this," Lizzie interrupted, wanting so much to change the subject, "If you three are to stay here, I suggest we should buy food and other necessities."

"Clothes," Gaby said.

"Yes," agreed Lizzie, "I've heard of a good clothing store not far from here. I should go with you."

"No, you are to remain in this house at all times," Illya told his sister. The two women looked at each other and shrugged, ignoring him to stand up and getting ready to leave for the clothing store.

Napoleon smirked at the brooding Russian man, "Women, peril. They're so hard-headed but we can't live without them."

* * *

 **UNCLE Headquarters, New York**

Waverly shook his head after seeing his office turned into the archive of Illya Kuryakin. Everything about him, his family, down to KGB, down to everyone he ever talked to, were there.

"Where do I start?" he asked himself, hands on his hips.

He sighed and picked up the first folder he could reach. _Aleksandra Elizaveta Kuryakin._


	4. Chapter 4

_my was this a bitch to write. i had to sit and research a lot of stuff. anyway, i hope you like this. let me know if there are any corrections, and your reactions as well._

 _a_ _ny resemblance to real people, living or dead, is purely coincidental._

* * *

The girls were very happy and excited to be out of the confines of the house, Lizzie especially. The two men followed them everywhere like hawks, even insisting to stand by their doors as they try on different clothing. To this, Lizzie rolled her eyes. Now, upon the insistence of Gaby and Napoleon, who weren't very used to the freezing temperatures of Volgograd, they were in a café, drinking Russian coffee. The Kuryakin siblings weren't comfortable being in public for so long, they just kept their heads down.

"Is that you, Napoleon Solo?" an airy voice called out from across the café. The foursome turned to see a tall, blonde woman who was rushing towards Napoleon.

Napoleon smirked, "Tina Ivanovic," he reached out to kiss the woman's hand, "You look so lovely!"

"What brings you to Volgograd?"

He stiffened. Napoleon has been too tired of the traveling that he had forgotten to think of a cover. In his defense, he was certain that that was what he was thinking about right before sleep took him last night.

"He lives here," Lizzie answered the woman. She wanted to slap herself when she noticed how Napoleon stiffened in surprise, and so she said the first thought that came to her mind.

Tina Ivanovic raised her eyebrows, disbelieving, "Oh, really?"

Lizzie stood up, "Yes! Oн мой жених." ( _He is my fiancé_ )

All of them widened their eyes at Lizzie's statement, Illya and Gaby slowly turning their heads to look at her, Tina looked surprised then amused, and Napoleon, eyes still wide, said nothing.

"I never thought of Mr. Solo as one who would…settle down," Tina shook her head, eyeing Lizzie from top to bottom, "You must be very… special."

The American, somehow recovered, sprung to action. He wrapped an arm around Lizzie and they exchanged looks, smiling at each other. "She is, Miss Ivanovic. Very special."

Tina seemed to buy it and smiled, "By the way, I'm not Ivanovic anymore, Mr. Solo. We haven't been in touch since our last… _meeting_. I'm—"

"Tina!" Another voice, a man's, called out loudly, "Где ебут ты был?" _(Where the fuck have you been?)_

The man approached the group, holding Tina by her upper arm. He was tall, almost the same height as Napoleon, with strong features and blue eyes.

"Это мои друзья, дорогая." Tina explained, and she smiled at the couple looking at her curiously. "This is my husband, Antony Sergeyev." ( _These are my friends, my dear)_

They exchanged pleasantries until Antony dismissed themselves from the group.

"You, Cowboy," Illya called, "Get your hands off my sister."

"Your sister gave me cover," Napoleon smirked, "That was brilliant." He kissed her hand, and Lizzie smiled shyly. They both took their seats.

"Stop it," Illya grumbled. "We should leave."

"Who is that Tina, anyway?" Gaby inquired.

"Ah," the American began, leaning in his seat, "We met at an auction a while ago. Before I was CIA."

"Oh," Lizzie said, amused, "You were… _fornicating_." She noticed everyone's attention on her, so she added, "That _is_ the right term, is it not? For сексом?" ( _Intercourse)_

Illya sighed and nodded, "Yes, Liz, that is correct." His sister seemed proud of herself, shrugged and leaned back on her seat.

"Come now," Illya said urgently, standing up, "We must report this to Waverly."

"Report what?" Napoleon asked.

* * *

"Your ex-lover's husband," Illya started, settling on a single seater. They were all sitting in the living room, Gaby nearest to the telephone, Napoleon across the room, leaning against the tall windows. Lizzie was lying down with her head on Gaby's lap, dozing off. They haven't known each other for more than a day, but Lizzie being in isolation and Gaby always being with the men, they clicked. "He is Antony Sergeyev."

"Yes," Napoleon said, urging him.

Illya looked at him, grimly, "He is on KGB alert. Part of a long ongoing investigation on the biggest unsolved mystery of this country."

That took the attention of Napoleon. Gaby looked from Illya to Napoleon and back again, "I don't understand. What unsolved mystery?"

Napoleon sucked in a breath. "The Romanovs."

* * *

"Sir?"

Waverly ran a hand down his face in exhaustion. "Please, get Illya Kuryakin on the line."

"Line is secure, sir."

Couple of shuffles later, Illya spoke on the other line, "Waverly, we have something to discuss."

"Indeed. I want all four of you to proceed to Moscow for extraction. We're taking you back to headquarters. This is about your sister."

"My sister?" Illya asked, confused. "What about it?"

Waverly flipped through the pages of Lizzie's file, "Not much, that's the problem. There are some pages missing on your sister's file."

"But this is more important," Illya insisted, "We met Antony Sergeyev."

Waverly gaped, shaking his head in disbelief. "Oh,dear lord. You have to come here, immediately."


	5. Chapter 5

_I crapped the words out. Holy shit. I was honestly just thinking about deleting this because I'm afraid that I will disappoint you all and myself. But hey, what the hell. Also, so help me, I have no idea how to make the Lizzie/Napoleon (Lipoleon? Nazzi?) story arc to work beautifully. As an aromantic, I certainly do not know how to get inspiration that would make these two move farther than platonic love. Okay, enough with the rant. Please review so that I would know what to change/improve. I appreciate each and every one of you all. Happy New Year._

* * *

Stepping out of the plane, Illya scowled. He wasn't particularly fond of New York. Granted, he wasn't particularly fond of _Americans_ , yet, somehow, he tolerated Solo. Gaby grumbled behind him, complaining how they never get to rest in a place for more than a week, then noticed the absence of Napoleon and his sister.

"Where's Lizzie?" he asked Gaby.

"She'll be out," Gaby answered, moving past him so that she could report to Waverly and rest as soon as possible. Illya rolled his eyes and went back inside the plane.

He was most displeased when he heard Waverly ordering the _four_ of them to head back to headquarters immediately. He sounded so worried and stressed and it made them all panic. Him, especially. Lizzie has never been outside Russia, never been outside Volgograd. The more selfish part of him reminded him that they wouldn't have much time catching up either. Waverly would probably give them some work and keep his sister locked up somewhere. Suffice to say, it wasn't his idea of how he would spend time together with his younger sister. Breaking away from his thoughts, Illya saw Napoleon hovering over sleeping Lizzie, one hand shaking her arm softly, another carrying a briefcase.

"She won't wake up," he informed the brother, not glancing at him.

"Of course, with you shaking her as though she is an infant," Illya replied, moving closer. Napoleon released his hold of the girl, stood up straight, and eyed Illya incredulously, "I didn't know that I needed to rough her up."

"I'll just carry her myself." Illya clicked his tongue, shoving past the American. In that moment, an agent entered the plane, panting, calling for Illya. "Mr. Kuryakin?"

Illya glanced at him.

"Director Waverly wants you to report in his office."

"Go," he heard Napoleon. "I'll take your sister." Illya narrowed his eyes at him for a minute, then nodded, leaving the plane.

Napoleon glanced at the sleeping form, hunched over. She probably fell asleep halfway the trip, surely not used to traveling a lot. With a sigh, he heaved her up, making sure her arms were at her sides and not dangling, and followed out of the aircraft.

* * *

Illya declined Waverly's glass of whiskey. What he needed the most was rest, but since he could neither run away nor complain verbally, he sat there, brooding.

"Are you sure you don't want a glass?" Waverly asked again and he was so close to snapping when Napoleon entered the office, noticing his director offer a glass of whiskey and exclaimed, "I'll have one." His director gave him a glass and moved over to his table, scanning the folders. He took the one he must've been looking for and handed it to Illya. Inside was the picture of a man they had the opportunity to meet hours ago.

"Not long after you called in having met Antony Sergeyev, one of our agents assigned to his case confirmed having seen your contact. As you know, Sergeyev was said to be directly involved in the assassination of Tsar Nicholas and his family. He also said that Sergeyev—or anyone who has been or still is part of the Bolsheviks—has never left their city, St. Petersburg. This was the first appearance of any member of the Bolsheviks outside the city."

Napoleon raised his hand holding his glass, "The Bolsheviks changed their name back in '52. They're now known as—"

"The Communist Party of Soviet Union," Illya finished for him, handing him over the folder. His attention turned to Waverly, "And then what?"

Waverly rubbed his forehead, giving them a tight-lipped smile. "Those directly involved with the Romanovs' assassination held a… _vendetta_ , if you must say. A promise to fulfill the tasks given to them."

"Their task was complete. They killed all of the Romanovs." Napoleon raised an eyebrow.

To this, Waverly shook his head slightly, "Did they?"

* * *

 _Lizzie stirred when she realized she wasn't anymore in her seat traveling to New York. Instead, she was being carried by a man. Panic settled in as she could smell the man's musky scent, realizing that she had her face buried in his chest. She jerked violently, trying to get off the man and away from his grasp. He dropped her, giving a surprised shout._

" _Liz, it's me," the man raised his hands up in a gesture of surrender, telling her he meant no harm. "It's me, Napoleon."_

 _When Lizzie realized that he was indeed Mr. Solo, she apologized quickly. He told her that they were headed to a room where she can rest temporarily before they figure out what to do next._

" _Gaby went to the room first, to sleep," he said, "Illya is attending to Waverly. I'll be following shortly."_

 _Lizzie nodded politely. They reached the room, seeing Gaby passed out on a couch, and Lizzie seemed tempted to just jump in and get some uninterrupted sleep. "Thank you, Mr. Solo," she said with a small smile._

 _Napoleon returned the smile and reached for something in this pocket, "You dropped this."_

" _Ah," Lizzie fingered the golden locket. It was a simple oval shaped locket with the name_ Aleksandra _engraved on it. "Once again, I thank you."_

 _He reached for her hand and kissed it. "Anything for my fiancée."_

* * *

"That statement is ridiculous!" Napoleon gave a small laugh. "None of the Tsar's children survived the attack. All of the women who claimed to be the Grand Duchess were all impostors."

"Don't you understand, cowboy?" Illya said, gritting his teeth, "The Bolsheviks don't leave St. Petersburg. They know people are after them, that they are being investigated. And yet, Sergeyev left the city."

Waverly nodded, "Indeed. Why would he do that? Sergeyev, as you can see in the file, is one of the most loyal to the true intentions of the Bolsheviks. Going outside St. Petersburg, risking his life to visit Volgograd…he had intended to do something."

Napoleon narrowed his eyes, looking over Sergeyev's files. Sergeyev: loyalist to the Bolsheviks, trying to live off as a Soviet aristocrat when in reality, a killer, a man on a mission. "And I would assume that he was in Volgograd to carry out this mission of his."

The two men with him nodded.

"That means," Illya sucked in a breath, "The Romanovs are still alive."


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter update! I can't take you all enough for favoriting/following and reviewing this story! I'm honestly feeling a lot of pressure because of uni, and me immigrating by the middle of the year, plus y'all liking this makes me pretty happy and nervous. Anyway, this isn't the most exciting chapter, mostly Lizzie, but the fun begins in the next chapter, which I wish to post not after another freaking month! Also, I recently just became a legal citizen of my country and soon to be an immigrant. So, let me know what you think of this chapter!

* * *

Lizzie wasn't stupid. She may have been inside the house for years, and only talked to some KGB agents every once in a while, but she knew Sergeyev. She had read about the Romanovs, and the still ongoing investigation around their deaths. She was, however, annoyed, at the sudden state of things. Her brother just came home a while ago, and not seeing him for such a long time made her very excited to catch up with him. Yet, there she was, lying down on a sofa, Gaby Teller sleeping on the sofa across her. Her head was spinning, trying to catch up with the fact that someone had broken in her safe house days ago, and now the director of UNCLE asked to pull them out of Russia. Lizzie glanced at the sleeping girl. Gaby was good to her, sometimes very serious, but sometimes quirky, and they both loved the fact that they won't be third-wheeling the Illya-Napoleon tension.

 _Ah, the American_ , Lizzie shook her head. He rarely talked to her, only very professional and kind, yet her brother doesn't think too highly of him as a person. An evil idea came to her mind. Since she was at the headquarters, maybe it won't hurt to…look around.

* * *

"That's stupid," Napoleon Solo tossed his drink into his mouth, "The Romanovs are dead, there were impostors—but they were disproven. The Romanovs were assassinated by the Bolsheviks in 1918."

His head was spinning; he was getting tired of all the commotion and the traveling. He was, however, relieved that he didn't have to endure the deathly cold of Volgograd. All he wanted now was to get to bed to rest his body and mind, but Waverly kept pressing on to the matter at hand.

"How would you explain Sergeyev, then?" Waverly asked him, looking stressed. "An old man, once part of the brotherhood that committed genocide, eventually has gone senile and now," he raised his arms to his sides, "moving on about in Russia as if looking for something-or someone!"

Illya nodded, looking pensive, "His behavior is with purpose, Solo. He cannot be moving to Volgograd because he wants new scenery."

To this, Napoleon rolled his eyes. "So, what's he looking for? The missing Duchess? Everyone's looking for Anastasia—everyone who's believed that she survived."

"She'll be old by now," his director told them, "Maybe they're also after her descendants."

The American grumbled under his breath. He took one last gulp of whiskey and moved toward the door, "Yes, for all we know," he nodded to Illya, "It could be you."

* * *

Lizzie sucked in a breath when she finally found Napoleon Solo's file. It was luck that got her into the Archives section of the building. Thankfully, or suspiciously enough, no one was there guarding the room. Suffice to say, she had searched the files reverse-alphabetical, and had read Alexander Waverly and Gaby Teller's file. Now, it was Napoleon Solo's.

She hated feeling clueless. She had grown up feeling used to Illya's protection, as it had been the two of them against everyone else. They never had to know a lot of people, much less _trust_ them, and she cannot simply whisk that feeling of doubt. Lizzie doesn't feel secure around people, it has always been Illya she trusted, and that was all she needed. And now, her routine has been destroyed and she has been forced not only to meet these people but to trust them with her life. So this is why she was doing it. Lizzie wanted to look into other people's eyes and be able to know what they're thinking, just like Illya.

She was scanning through Napoleon's file, taking note of the most important details: US Army Sergeant, then turned to Larceny. Expert on safe-cracking. Robbery, handling stolen goods and serial theft of Arts and Antiquities, 15 years: suspended sentence. Lizzie shook her head in disbelief and amazement.

"He got away with it," she clicked her tongue, "All the crimes and he got away."

Next, spoken languages. German, Italian, Spanish, Japanese, Russian. Lizzie only knew two languages: Russian and English, and again, this made her click her tongue.

Psychological profile. She found out of Waverly's former alcohol and opium addiction, Gaby's anxiety and insomnia, very mild but cannot be ignored. Napoleon's, however, was a little expected. A gambler. Backgammon. Also, serial womanizer. A face like that cannot be a sight for sore eyes. _Very handsome, indeed_ , Lizzie thought. Does this man look at women like they're just solely made for pleasure? Is he incapable of love? Lizzie closed the file with an exhausted sigh, absorbing information and trying not to be seen by people wasn't exactly the most comfortable position to be in. She was moving on to her new target, K. Kuryakin. Her file and Illya's. She was honestly very curious as to what she'd see in her files, because, as expected, they would have a file about her life.

"Excuse me? Who are you?"

The voice startled Lizzie so much that she slammed the drawer shut in haste and surprise. A middle-aged, sharp-looking woman eyed her through her cat-eye shaped glasses that looked like they were made for middle-aged, sharp-looking beady-eyed women. "You are not authorized here!"

Lizzie winced, but hurriedly tried to make up an excuse. "Director Waverly."

The woman, whose name was Olive Crawford as seen from her pin, raised her eyebrows in surprise, "Director Waverly?"

"Yes, he asked me to bring him some of the files needed for some investigation."

Olive Crawford nodded enthusiastically, whizzing towards the drawers, "Whose files does he need? For what investigation?"

"It's for the…er Russian case," Lizzie excused. "I just need Aleksandra Kuryakin's files."

"Aleksandra Kuryakin?" Olive Crawford moved to the K section of the Archives, looking confused. "There's no one here named Aleksandra Kuryakin. Is that her full name?"

"Um…she has a second name…I think," Lizzie told her, starting to get confused as well.

"Well, then, what is it?" the beady-eyed woman was beginning to sound irritated.

"I'm not sure but it was something like…Elizabeth?"

Olive snorted, " _Elizaveta_ , you mean. They don't name their daughters Elizabeth. You should know," she eyed Lizzie, looking down so that she could look at her directly and not through the glasses, "You sound Russian."

Lizzie flushed in embarrassment, not realizing that her accent has, obviously, stayed. She's not that fluent in English to lose her accent.

"But…uh, no," Olive Crawford shook her head, "There's no file here for Aleksandra Kuryakin. I thought maybe they listed her by her second name but there's not Elizaveta, either. We have an Illya Kuryakin, though, do you want it?"


	7. Chapter 7

Lizzie woke up to the sound of the door getting slammed shut and a lot of frantic voices speaking at once. She pushed herself off the bed and dragged herself out of the room to see Napoleon and Illya going head to head, looking like they were going to bite each other's heads off.

"And I'm telling you that you're stupid. You, go to Volgograd alone?" Napoleon goaded Illya.

"You do not have business there anymore, _cowboy_ ," the Russian snapped at him. Lizzie glanced to her side to see an irritated Gaby. "What is going on?" Lizzie stepped up.

The two men turned to her, Napoleon's pissed off expression morphed to his professional face, while Illya still looked pissed. At his feet was a traveling bag.

"UNCLE alerted us a few moments ago," Napoleon turned to Lizzie, "that your house in Volgograd was bombed."

* * *

She had to sit down as the American and her brother filled her in with the details. The bombers were unidentified, and the agents guarding the house were also killed. KGB has started the investigation, but asked UNCLE to take over. It was, after all, a personal attack to the Kuryakins. Illya was furious.

"The KGB has no idea who bombed the house?" Napoleon was leaning his head on his pointer finger, his elbow on the arm rest. His Russian comrade shook his head grimly.

It was just the four of them, Napoleon, Illya, Gaby and Lizzie, in the shared apartment UNCLE so kindly offered them. The three of them took some time to calm Illya down, who was shaking with anger and was close to jumping into a plane back to Volgograd. Lizzie sat on a one-sitter, Gaby on one of its arm rests, an arm wrapped around Lizzie's shoulders. Across them, the two men were wound tight, planning their next move.

"But," Illya started, "I have an idea who."

"Who?" Gaby sighed, exasperated. She knew what Illya was thinking. She wasn't in the meeting the men had the last time, but they gladly filled her in. "The Bolsheviks?"

Illya didn't answer.

"That's stupid, Illya," Lizzie said in a small voice, looking at her brother. "What is their motive?"

Napoleon shook his head. No one knows. "As far as we know, the Bolsheviks aren't even behind this."

"Sergeyev is our only lead!" the Russian snarled at him.

"So what do we do?" Lizzie shrugged her shoulders, "Attack him in his home, put bullets in his head?"

"We don't have enough intel," she and Gaby said together. Napoleon nodded, eyeing Illya as if to say "See? The girls are on my side."

"There's no 'We'. You're not going," Illya snapped at them, narrowing his eyes on his sister.

Lizzie ignored his comment, "What do you propose we do? Break into KGB, steal the Bolsheviks files and find out their reason for this?"

Illya and Napoleon said nothing, exchanging glances at each other.

* * *

"Gaby," Lizzie called, eyeing Gaby who was reading a book from across her, "Have you…have you seen your files here in UNCLE?"

"Hmm," Gaby didn't look from her book, "No, but I was aware that I have a file here."

Lizzie nodded slowly, "So, does Illya and Napoleon have a file here too?"

"Hmm."

"And…me?"

Gaby turned to look at her, narrowing her eyes at Lizzie, "I think so, yes. Why do you ask this?"

Lizzie moved to sit on Gaby's bed, whispering conspiratorially, "I looked for my files in the Archives." Gaby's eyes widened in surprise, leaning close to Lizzie, "And?"

"I found nothing," Lizzie shook her head dejectedly. "I was hoping you'd know the location of my file. Just to know what they've put."

Gaby looked down, thinking. Then, looking up, she nodded, smiling softly, "I'll help you look."

The younger Kuryakin, surprised, shrieked and threw her arms around Gaby. "моя любовь! (My love!) Thank you so much!"

Gaby shushed her as she hugged the girl back, laughing.

* * *

"The Statue of Liberty, or _La Liberté éclairant le monde_ , is a colossal neoclassical sculpture designed by Frédéric Auguste Bartholdi, a French sculptor and was built by Gustave Eiffel and dedicated to the United States on October 28, 1886 from the people of France."

Illya rolled his eyes as Napoleon extended his hand out to the statue, smiling proudly. It was four in the afternoon, the four strolling around Manhattan, Napoleon eagerly pulled them to see the Statue. They remained stressed, but Napoleon insisted that an afternoon of sight seeing wouldn't hurt.

"Very technical," Gaby praised, nodding, "Where did you get it?" Lizzie was trying not to smile beside her.

Napoleon smiled, acting confused, "I don't see what you mean."

"He got it from brochure," Illya held up his hold of Napoleon's wrist, showing them the brochure about the Statue of Liberty. Smirking, he nodded to the statue again, "The statue is Libertas, the Roman goddess bearing a torch and a tablet evoking the law, upon which is written the date of the American Declaration of Independence. July 4, 1776. A broken chain lies at her feet," he said, pointing to the design. "The statue is an icon of freedom and of the United States, and a welcoming sight to immigrants arriving from abroad."

"This came from the brochure as well," Lizzie teased her brother.

"No, it came from research and my perfect recall." Illya smiled at her.

Soon, Gaby was growing hungry and the four of them decided to stroll around to look for a place to have dinner. Napoleon and Gaby were still talking about the statue's design and symbolism. Illya and Lizzie followed behind them.

"Are you alright?" Illya wrapped a hand on his sister's arm, noticing her sweating hard.

"I am, brother," Lizzie reassured, "I'm still trying to…get used to the weather."

"Not very cold for you?" he smiled. Lizzie shook her head, smiling back. "No."

Just then, someone bumped into Lizzie, causing her to stumble. Illya caught her in time.

"Hey, you!" He called out to the person. "It's alright, Illya," Lizzie reassured him.

The man turned partially, mumbled an apology and rushed off. Illya's eyes widened in surprise.

Napoleon and Gaby turned to look at them curiously. "What's going on?" Gaby asked. Lizzie told her, reassuring Gaby that she was indeed, alright. She turned to Napoleon, who was watching Illya intently. "What's wrong?" Napoleon nodded to Illya's hand.

It was shaking.

Lizzie immediately placed her hands on each of Illya's upper arms, consoling him, telling him to calm down and talk to her.

"That man," Illya started, as he was taking deep breaths to calm himself down, "I know him. He's Mikhail Kostin."

"Alright," Lizzie nodded slowly, hands still on her brother, "What's wrong with him, Illya?" She was talking to him slowly, taking the same deep breaths as her brother, trying to prevent another psychotic episode from happening.

"He is a Bolshevik. Mikhail Kostin."

"What is he doing here?" Napoleon asked, alarmed.

"Indeed." Illya asked. "He should be in Gulag. I put him there."

* * *

 _This is kind of short and idk? I wanted to add some Nazzie stuff but I figured meh maybe next chapter. Anyway, thank you for all the support, I love all the reviews. Also, writing Gaby and Lizzie makes me want to ship them. Ha._

 **Stefanie: Thank you for the very long and detailed reviews! I appreciate them and they help me see clearly on how I want this story to go.**

 **TheLadyBath: Thanks for the support! Cheers. (And you know this already)**

 **meowma1: Thanks for the reviews my friend! You inspire me, truly.**

 **And to everyone else (Darren, Guest, danielmadcliffe, C.B. Weasley, Guest46, bookangel1624 and Guest#2): Thank you!**

 **(And to all who followed and favorited and took the time to read this fic).**

 **Let me know your thoughts. I'll try to update sooner.**


End file.
